Black Short Stories : Bitter Sweet Love (first public short story...)

Discussion in 'Short Stories - Authors - Writing' started by sahara heart, Nov 13, 2006.

  1. sahara heart

    sahara heart Well-Known Member MEMBER

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    I hope you guys like this, i don't really post short stories but i thought why not? ... Enjoy

    "Hey Jeannette!" a deep sultry voice said.
    Turning around slowly, Jeannette looked up knowing who she would find there. “Hey Jamil, what are you doing here?” Jeannette said smiling.
    “Well, I go to this university so I thought I would come by the library to get some studying done.”
    Jamil glanced over Jeannette’s shoulder and the smile vanished from his face.
    “This is Des,” Jeannette intervened.
    He shook her hand with a disturbed look on his face and, Des’ smile faded too. Jeannette did not seem to notice so she invited him to study with them. Des hurriedly shuffled out of her seat mumbling an excuse to leave. Again, Jeannette said nothing and let her hurry off.. She turned back to face Jamil and that is when she saw the anguish on his face.
    Jeannette had met Des at the American University of Cairo. Both girls were Rwandese. They had become friends because of their nationality. Earlier that morning, Jeannette remembered her friend’s cheekiness in economics class. What had happened to her now? They had whispered all through class while Professor Smith rambled on about quantum economics. Des smiled as she recalled Des whispering, “you know we don’t need this back in the green hills of Gitarama, we might as well pack up and go back to Rwanda to dig our small fields.” The caramel-brown girls, with the defining forehead of the Rwandese women, perfect white teeth, and small well-sculpted noses, had walked out into the dreadful Cairo heat, arms linked. “You know you’re my sister Jeannie, I have no one else but you here.” Des had said inching closer.
    Now, Jeannie’s head was reeling with confusion. She tried to run through all the reasons her friend was unexpectedly acting uncivilised and she had nothing.
    “Jeannie, I know this is going to seem weird because I… we just met and I shouldn’t be telling you this --” Jamil said hesitantly, bringing Jeannie out of her questioning mind.
    “No no Jamil, it’s alright, you can tell me,” she replied still worried about Des.
    “Well, I just think its better that we don’t see each other for a while although I really like you. I think your girl Des would be better telling you the rest of the story.” He said with a poignant look on his face. Jamil gathered his books and left leaving Jeannette alone, her mouth wide open in dismay and her books scattered over the library table staring up at her.
    Why do things always happen this way? Just when I am starting to fall for a guy, he runs… what is wrong with me? Jeannie thought. She grabbed her books in a lazy slump and headed out of the library to find Des. She started at the cafeteria since Des always ate when she was stressed out, but she wasn’t there. Jeannie tried the gym next, hoping that Des had finally taken her advice on how to handle stress, but she didn’t find her friend there either. On her way out to her car, Jeannie ducked behind a tree, trying desperately to avoid Professor Smith. She was about to skip her accounting class to go and find Des.
    Once in her old Nissan, she flipped her cell phone open and dialled Des’ number. The phone rang seven times with no answer. “shoot!” Jeannie cursed throwing the mobile phone onto the passenger’s seat. She drove insanely over to the apartment the two girls shared. There, she found Des curled up in a pathetic ball on the deep blue couch, crying and rocking back and forth. It seemed as though she had been stricken by such grief that all she could do was force herself into this infantile position. Jean walked slowly into the room not knowing what to do. As she reached out to touch her friend, Des’ whole body convulsed as if repulsed by the touch of her only friend. Shocked and confused, Jeannette started to cry. The tears came flowing so easily like they were at the starting line of a race and had just heard the gunshot. Her heart constricted with pain and she choked on her words as she asked her friend.
    “Des, Pl please tell me… what’s the matter?”
    Des slowly looked up and, her eyes were red and sheepish. The crying stopped as she looked at her caring friend. Flashbacks of her mother’s torturous death rushed to her memory. She began to talk. Her voice was distant and void as if it she wasn’t really speaking to anyone but herself.
    “I was four years old,” she paused, “They killed my mother Jeannie, they killed her.” Des said falling into her friend’s arms.
    “Hush now muhungu wa mawe,” Jeannie said soothingly in Kinyarwanda.
    Des smiled at the sound of their native tongue and continued, “My father married my mother but none of his family wanted their marriage. He was Egyptian she was Rwandese. They eloped and married and then went to Gitarama and lived happily… for a while at least.” She said drifting off in thought again.
    “What does that have to do with Jamil though? Do you know him?” Jeannie asked confused
    “I was only four Des, I was only four – and I saw them beat my mother to death,” Des screeched. “Uncle Emile, my dad’s brother came from Cairo, and found us. He dragged mama out into the courtyard in front of everyone and called her humiliating names. He beat her, threw stones at her and no one did anything Jeannie, everyone just looked on with pity, but none of them went to help her.”
    Hot tears burned a trail down Jeannette’s rounded cheeks
    “I was only four. I didn’t save my mama. I sat crouched at the front door and cried for someone to help but no one came,” Des said,
    “Tata tried to stop Uncle Emile but Uncle was much stronger and as he threw the last stone, it hit mama’s head and she dropped to the ground. She didn’t move at all. She just lay there.” She shuddered remembering her father’s last kiss onto her mother’s bloody, bruised lips and turned to look her friend in the eyes.
    “Jamil is my cousin. Uncle Emile is his father,” she said.
    Jeannette’s whole body stiffened and everything was a blur. Then a wash of confusion and anger came over her. She began to shake.
    “But Jamil told me he was part Rwandese! How is that possible?”
    “Yeah, it’s true, Jamil’s mother is Rwandese but Uncle Emile never married,” Des said still recovering. “That is why I reacted the way I did when I saw him in the library today.”
    “Des, what happened to your father then? I know he is dead but did what you just told me have anything to do with it?” Jeannie asked.
    “He killed himself after that,” she said pausing, “you are all I have Jeannie and I don’t want to lose you just like I lost mama.”
    Jeannette got up from the floor where she had been kneeling the whole time and climbed onto the large couch with her friend. She held her in her foetal position and whispered, “We are sisters Des, no matter what, always sisters, always friends.”
     
  2. $$RICH$$

    $$RICH$$ Lyon King Admin. STAFF

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    wow this was deep and tense very nice story ...
     
  3. tjlscott

    tjlscott Member MEMBER

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    Nice

    Really nice story. I like it a lot.
     
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